


Splinters

by DesertScribe



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Architectural Horror, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-05
Updated: 2017-10-05
Packaged: 2019-01-07 12:00:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12232413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DesertScribe/pseuds/DesertScribe
Summary: Stanley Pines may have fooled the people of Gravity Falls into thinking that he was his twin brother, Stanford, just by telling them to call him Stan, but he could not fool the house no matter how hard he tried.  It knew what he had done deep underground, and it did not approve.





	Splinters

**Author's Note:**

  * For [RoseWithAllHerThorns](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RoseWithAllHerThorns/gifts).



It could not remember being built, because even a structure made of magical timber on a magical nexus in a magical valley could not attain sentience all at once. However, it could remember slowly waking to the knowledge that it was a house and that it belonged to Stanford Pines. Or maybe Stanford Pines belonged to it, because Stanford was the one who wandered away but always returned while the house sat and waited. Stanford was the one who took shelter within the house the way that the pencils and pens that Stanford owned sheltered within the pockets of his clothing. The house did not shelter within Stanford.

The house quickly grew a sense of proprietary fondness towards Stanford, even as he occasionally brought home fire breathing snakes and large assortments of wood boring insects which inevitably escaped from their containment vessels. If it had known the word, it probably would have thought of him as a pet, maybe one that sometimes misbehaved, but on the whole a good one. They existed together in harmony for years.

Eventually, a new human, Fiddleford McGucket, came and did inexplicable human things with Stanford. He visited most days and built metal objects down in the sub-basements. Sometimes he even fell asleep at desks or tables, so he might have been said to shelter within the house, but he refused to call the house his home, so the house did not feel as possessive of him as it did of Stanford. When Fiddleford wandered away and did not return, the house did not miss him. It had Stanford, and that was all that mattered.

Then, in the depths of winter, as the house's tree brethren slumbered in the snow and waited for spring, a new human arrived. The two descended into the basement where Fiddleford had left his machines. Only one returned, and it was not Stanford. 

Stanley Pines may have fooled the people of Gravity Falls into thinking that he was his twin brother, Stanford, just by telling them to call him Stan, but he could not fool the house no matter how hard he tried. It knew what he had done deep underground, and it did not approve. Stanford was gone, but this time he had not wandered away. This time, he had been pushed. The house had seen it happen, and, for the first time ever, the house felt anger.

The house most emphatically did not think of Stanley Pines as a pet. It thought of him as an infestation, one it intended to eradicate. It swapped around the cold and hot water pipes on a regular basis, but Stanley had apparently lived in so many places with mundanely terrible plumbing that he did not think there was anything strange about it. It tried to drop pieces of itself on him, but he was used to taking blows to the head and shrugged off yet another concussion as just being part of life.

The house tried rearranging its floorplan to show him how unwelcome he was. However, when the house kept its actions subtle Stanley simply ignored it or, at worst, bumped his shoulders against doorframes and blamed it on not paying enough attention. When the house made its changes more drastic, Stanley still blamed it on lack of attention or poor memory and, worse yet, the trickery gave him inspiration for new ways to con money out of the tourists he had started inviting into the house. The house did not like any of that, nor did it like the new name of Murder Hut that Stanley had bestowed upon it. Take today, for example:

"And this is the mysterious Door to Nowhere," Stan said, gesturing to the freestanding doorframe and door that he had nailed to a small raised platform in the middle of the room. "Usually when you open it, it doesn't lead anywhere." He opened the door to show an unobstructed view of the other exhibits in the room. The crowd ooh-ed and aah-ed and took pictures. "But," Stan continued, "sometimes, in the dead of night, instead of not leading anywhere, it leads _nowhere_!" He wiggled his fingers spookily for emphasis. The crowd clapped and took more pictures. "Any questions?"

"I have a question, Mr. Mystery," a man said while jumping up and down with his hand in the air but not waiting to be called on. "You call this place the Murder Hut, but who died here? Won't you tell us that story?"

"First of all, that's two questions. And second of all, nah," Stan laughed awkwardly, "nobody ever died here. Sometimes I just have a sneaking suspicion that this place is trying to kill me." He gave the wall a mocking pat.

The house bristled, literally, but Stan didn't seem to think there was anything odd about getting a sudden palmful of splinters from wood that had previously been smooth. He just put his hands behind his back where the tourists couldn't see and unconcernedly picked out the worst of them while he continued with his tour. The tour went on, and then it ended, and eventually Stan locked the doors and turned out the lights for the night. Then he turned around and punched the wall.

The house had long ago given up hoping that such actions meant that Stanley had noticed its intentions and was trying to fight back. No, the house knew that he was merely angry at himself for not yet earning enough money for the new parts necessary for him to return to tinkering with the broken machines in the basement.

Stupid human. The house was just going to have to try even harder to get rid of him.

But then, that night, as Stanley fell into fitful slumber, the house noticed something. Though the man had taken the largest of the splinters from his palm, the tinier slivers were still imbedded in the skin and slowly working their way in deeper beneath the calluses. By morning he would need a knife if he wanted to get them out but probably wouldn't even remember that they were there. Did that mean that the house now sheltered within Stanley just as he sheltered within it? Was it his now? Was he its?

The house would have to think on that. It might be willing to keep him if he gave it a new name, something suitable majestic yet alluring. It already had just such a name in mind. The house reached out a tendril of magic through the splinters in Stan's skin and whispered the words, "Mystery Shack." It would be a long time before the house would consider liking Stanley Pines, but maybe this was a start. 

"Mystery Shack," Stan muttered in his sleep. "Yeah, has a nice ring to it. Might bring in more people than 'Murder Hut.'" Then he rolled over and started snoring into his pillow.

The house decided to leave him alone for the rest of the night while it considered its options. The tiny splinters continued to work their way deeper with each movement Stan made as he slept.

They were a part of him now. Unnoticed by either man or building, deep in the depths of Stan's brain, the ocean and sand and brick buildings that made up his mindscape started to slowly, subtly shift and reshape themselves into something new. It would take years to finish, but the Glass Shard Beach and Jersey Shore in Stan's mind began a process of gradual crumbling decay, like a real abandoned city left to rot against the ravages of time. Tiny saplings sprouted out of the sand, and a new structure began piecing itself together out of the ruins, a structure that would one day look like the future Mystery Shack.

They really did belong to each other now.

The next morning, Stan woke up, looked around, and felt the inexplicable urge to take better of the old place, at least until he could get Ford back. And if he failed to notice the house starting to take better care of him too, that was just par for the course after he had failed to notice it trying to kill him.

**The End**


End file.
